


i look at you and think of safety (isn't that what home is?)

by hopeless_hope



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Huddling For Warmth, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Slash, but he's trying his best, geralt doesn't understand jaskier's affection for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: “You’re not scared of me,” Geralt had asked him.“No,” Jaskier had responded, like it was that simple.And maybe it is. Maybe the reason why Geralt can’t get rid of this goofy human - why he really doesn’t want to - is because Jaskier is the first person he’s met who hasn’t been scared of him. The first person who waited, who watched, who actually bothered to get to know him.-In which Geralt and Jaskier realize they've become each other's home.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 665





	i look at you and think of safety (isn't that what home is?)

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I barely even go here, I can't believe I've written this. I've never played the game or read the books, and I'm literally only on episode 4, but for some reason, bits of this dialogue would not leave me alone, and it turned into a whole thing.
> 
> So if they seem super out of character or the world doesn't fit, it's because I'm super new to it, and I'm sorry! I hope you enjoy.

“You’re not scared of me,” Geralt says. He says it like a statement but they both know it’s a question. Jaskier looks at him, eyes trusting. Unblinking.

“No,” he responds, and he’s not lying. There is something about Geralt; where others flinch away from his tough exterior, Jaskier finds himself drawn in.

“Why not?” Geralt asks, more confused that offended.

Jaskier gives him a strange look. “Should I be? Are you planning to murder me in my sleep? Poison my food, perhaps?”

“Of course not,” Geralt says, brows furrowing. There’s a frustration growing inside of him that he doesn’t understand.

“Then I have no reason to fear you,” he settles, as if it’s that simple.

“So that’s it?” Geralt demands. “That’s your standard? I’m not going to kill you, so therefore you’re not afraid of me?”

Jaskier’s hands still from where he’s setting up a makeshift bed for the night, and he takes in his friend’s demeanor, anger rolling off him in waves. Anyone else, Jaskier knows, would be running for the hills. But anyone else doesn’t know Geralt like he does. They haven’t seen him croon to his horse when he thinks no one is watching, haven’t seen his face softened with sleep.

There is something so vulnerably  _ human  _ under that emotionless exterior, and Jaskier is drawn to it, like a moth to flame.

(But that’s not really an accurate metaphor, is it? Because as Jaskier gets closer, he does not feel like he’s getting closer to his demise. No, he feels like he’s getting closer to home.)

Jaskier looks at him, face unusually serious as he settles onto his makeshift bed.

“Yeah, Geralt. It’s that simple.”

And then he closes his eyes and lets night settle around them.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Geralt is not a morning person. He finds the first rays of sunlight that brush at his face to be irritating, and he turns away from the insistent call of the day to get up. It is years and years of training and habit that pull him up, and he shakes off the lingering sleepiness that threatens to tug him down again.

He looks over, expecting to find Jaskier still asleep, no doubt worn out from his constant singing and talking from the day before, but is surprised to find the spot next to him empty.

Geralt allows himself a moment of alarm before looking down the way to where Roach is tied loosely to a tree. He tries not to think too hard about the relief that courses through his veins when he finds the bard safe beside his horse, and chooses instead to focus on the surprise.

Roach never lets anyone but Geralt touch her. He blinks in disbelief, but when his eyes open again, Jaskier is still standing at her side, brushing his fingers through her mane and singing quietly as Roach stands there with a half-lidded gaze, completely relaxed.

Then, as Geralt watches, Jaskier slips a hand into his pocket and takes out a crisp, red apple. Geralt barely has time to think,  _ Where the hell did he get that? _ before Roach eagerly munches it up. Geralt rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“Cheap mare,” he mutters before gathering up his blankets and making his way over. Jaskier, it seems, already has what little of his belongings ready to go.

“Good morning!” the bard chirps at Geralt as he stalks over grumpily. Geralt just grunts in reply. “I’ll take that as a ‘Good morning to you, too!’” Jaskier laughs, and Geralt ignores him, running a hand across Roach’s back in greeting before slinging the saddle on and tightening the girth.

Jaskier simply stands and watches him go through the motions of getting ready for the long day of travel, keeping up a steady stream of commentary. He doesn’t seem to mind that Geralt doesn’t reply - no doubt used to the stony silence by now - but Geralt’s mind flickers back to their conversation last night.

Once again, his gut stirs with confusion as he tries to understand  _ why.  _ Why the bard sticks with him, why he continues to talk to him despite the lack of response. Finally, just before he swings into the saddle, Geralt looks over at Jaskier with a raised brow.

“We’d best be going quickly today. I suspect it’s going to get cold tonight, and I’d rather not be stuck freezing my ass off in the middle of the night,” he tells him, and Jaskier grins.

“As you wish, O Mighty Witcher,” Jaskier says teasingly with a mock salute, and this time, Geralt doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes. He simply climbs into the saddle and nudges Roach gently with his heels. “Talkative as ever this morning, I see,” Jaskier comments, picking up his pace to keep up with the horse.

“I don’t need to talk when you say everything there is to be said already,” Geralt says wryly.

“I call it ‘filling in the empty spaces,’” Jaskier replies pointedly. “Besides, the same words from different people mean something different. They’re different because it came from them. And besides, I’d much rather hear about you talk about what a gorgeous day it is than hear myself.”

“Hmph,” Geralt grunts, not looking over at him.

(If he did, he might be forced to admit to himself that  _ he’s  _ the one who’d rather listen to Jaskier talk about the weather. About life. About anything.)

* * *

As Geralt predicted, a chill settles in the atmosphere quickly, and not even the sun does much to keep the cold away. Next to him, Jaskier has a blanket wrapped around him as he walks, but even so, he manages to get his frozen fingers to strum a few chords on his lute.

Geralt can’t help but marvel at the chipper attitude of the other man. He’s not stupid; Geralt knows that he’s not exactly an ideal traveling companion. In fact, he’s done everything he can to make  _ sure  _ he’s not a desirable traveling companion.

It’s cold, and they’re low on food, and Geralt is grumpy, and somehow, Jaskier still finds things to sing about. It is a joy Geralt cannot understand.

He looks over at the smaller man and can’t help the pang of guilt he feels as Jaskier rubs his hands together, trying to coax warmth back into them. They’ve been travelling for hours, and Geralt can see his companion beginning to falter, from both cold and exhaustion.

_ It’s not like I’m forcing him to stay with me,  _ Geralt reasons, but the moment he thinks the thought, there’s another voice in his head arguing with him.

_ Roach can easily hold you both! We’re almost to the town - you won’t have to put up with it for long.  _ Geralt groans out loud, wondering when he developed such a conscience and when it became so damn  _ loud.  _

“Uh, Geralt? You good?” Jaskier asks, giving him a weird look, and Geralt clenches his teeth. And, really, he’s not mad at Jaskier. He’s just mad at the way the man completely stomped all over his sense of equilibrium.

Maybe Geralt hates everyone else, but at least he understands them. He understands fear and hate and greed. Not whatever… whatever  _ this  _ is.

He halts Roach and steels himself a moment before looking over at Jaskier and sighing. “Climb up,” he grits out, and for a second, Jaskier just looks at him.

“Um… Come again?” he asks with a dubious look. Which is fair, considering Geralt looks like he wants to swallow back his words. But Geralt sees another shiver course through Jaskier’s body, and guilt takes root in his gut again.

“Get on Roach,” he says shortly. “You’re tired and she can carry us both the rest of the way. And, for some God forsaken reason, she seems to like you.”

Jaskier grins. “Of course she does,” he says matter-of-factly, and Geralt sighs.

“Just get on before I change my mind,” Geralt snaps, holding out a hand to help him up. Jaskier grips his hand gratefully and swings himself up behind Geralt with ease, and Geralt can’t help but tense at the close contact.

Roach, sensing his tension, shifts nervously, and Geralt forces himself to relax. Jaskier checks that his lute is secure behind him and and then fidgets with his hands, not quite knowing what to do with them.

Geralt is equally as clueless, and it’s almost enough to demand that Jaskier get off, but then he steels himself and bites out a quick, “Just grab my shirt.” Jaskier hesitantly reaches out, nearly wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist, and twists his hands into the fabric of his shirt. He breathes out a sigh of relief at the warmth it provides his hands.

Wordlessly, Geralt sends Roach forward, and Jaskier’s hands instinctively tighten around him.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says sincerely, and for a moment, Geralt doesn’t say anything.

Eventually, he lets out a quiet, “Mhm,” and Jaskier knows that’s the closest thing he’ll get to a, “You’re welcome.” He smiles.

By the time they reach the small town they’ve been heading towards, just as night is falling, Jaskier is pressed tightly against Geralt’s back, comforted by the warmth from the body in front of him.

And for all of Geralt’s tough exterior and seeming aversion to touch, he really can’t bring himself to mind.

* * *

The first inn they get to meets them with cries of, “Fuck off, Witcher scum!” and Jaskier feels something fierce and protective coil in his chest. The looks people give them are filled with a misplaced loathing, and Jaskier takes a step closer to Geralt.

Geralt merely takes his coin and turns stalks off, not saying a word about the incident. Thankfully, the next inn isn’t nearly so hostile.

“We have one bedroom with two beds. Will that suffice?” the innkeeper asks, and Geralt puts his money on the counter in answer. He takes the key, quietly ordering Jaskier to make his way to their room while he secures Roach in the stables.

Jaskier quickly takes their belongings and heads down the hall, opening the door and taking a look around. It’s not the most glamorous, but it’ll do. The beds are small, but the comforters look inviting enough, and Jaskier wants nothing more than to settle down in the warmth after a long day in the biting cold.

He sets his bag on the nearest bed, before pausing. Geralt, he’s noticed, always likes to be closest to the door, if for a fast escape or to protect, Jaskier isn’t sure. With that in mind, he quickly moves his stuff to the other bed just before Geralt makes his way in.

The Witcher wastes no time before setting his stuff on the bed and making his way to the washroom, and settling down for the night is a quiet affair.

They’re both clean and settled in their respective beds when Jaskier quietly says, “I’m sorry about before. At the first inn. It was completely rotten of them to turn you away like that.”

Geralt stares up at the ceiling. “Nothing I’m not used to,” he replies, not hurt or offended. Just matter-of-fact. Red-hot anger bursts through Jaskier’s veins at the implications of that statement.

“You shouldn’t have to be used to that,” Jaskier says vehemently, and the heat in his voice is enough to draw Geralt’s gaze to him, surprised at the ferocity in the normally docile human’s voice.

“People fear what they don’t understand,” Geralt says cautiously.

“What’s not to understand? You kill monsters. You help people. You’re  _ good. _ ”

Once again, Geralt finds himself baffled by the man next to him. He rolls over to face him fully. “Why are you so sure?”

“Because I’ve watched you,” Jaskier says, as if that’s enough. “Because I’ve seen you help people - hell, you’ve helped  _ me  _ and you didn’t even want me around. And because you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good and to let me ride your horse when I’m tired and give me an extra blanket when I’m cold. Bad people don’t do that.”

It takes a lot to surprise Geralt, but he is surprised at the bard’s words and how they seem to settle deep in his chest and make him feel warmer than he ever has. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling, so he simply looks away, gaze finding the ceiling again.

_ “You’re not scared of me,”  _ Geralt had asked him.

_ “No,”  _ Jaskier had responded, like it was that simple.

And maybe it is. Maybe the reason why Geralt can’t get rid of this little human - why he really doesn’t  _ want  _ to - is because Jaskier is the first person he’s met who hasn’t been scared of him. The first person who waited, who watched, who actually bothered to get to know him.

“What about you?” Geralt demands, changing the subject and putting the focus away from him. “Why are you here, with me?”

Jaskier laughs. “Where else would I be? Singing in shitty pubs?”

“That’s what you were doing before we met,” Geralt points out.

“Yeah, but now I actually have something to sing about,” Jaskier says. “Something that matters. Something that will change people.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but looks back at him, something impossibly fond in his gaze. “People don’t care about a grumpy old Witcher.”

Jaskier hums lightly. “I beg to differ. Besides, I sing my songs, and they get a glimpse of how I see you. That matters to me.”

Geralt’s breath catches at his words. “It matters to you enough to stay away from your home? To follow me all over the continent, to walk by foot day by day?” he asks, a challenge in his voice. Because there’s no way Jaskier knows what he’s saying. Not really.

Jaskier straight looks at him, then, and Geralt finds himself unable to look away. Jaskier waits a moment, tries to imagine what leaving would feel like. Tries to imagine the absence of aching in his feet from walking alongside Roach, tries to imagine not waking up to Geralt’s tough expression softened with sleep, tries to imagine being away from the one person who makes him feel  _ safe,  _ no matter what kind of danger they run into.

He takes a deep breath and says, without a trace of doubt in his voice, “Maybe I already am home.”

To be honest, Gerald had never given much thought to the word “home” before. He always moved around too much to really consider the term. But looking at Jaskier now, a small smile tugs at his lips, and he thinks maybe he understands.

Home was never about a place. It was about the people. About Jaskier.

Somehow, Geralt thinks he could get used to that.

“Maybe I am, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed my first Witcher fic! I mostly write for marvel, so if that interests you, feel free to check out my other stuff. You can also come talk to me on tumblr @tonystarkstan!
> 
> Comments and kudos are incredibly appreciated, especially since I'm so new to this fandom. Thank you for reading!


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